


Little Boy Blue

by Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff



Series: Everything is not as it seems [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Anti-Depressants, Depression, Flashbacks, Gen, Hiding, Mentall Illness, Panic Attacks, Sad, Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, angst with happy ending, fears of being sent down, keeping mental illness a secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff/pseuds/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff
Summary: When the team votes Mitch as the happiest, liveliest person on the team, Mitch knows he’s done his job.





	Little Boy Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally back with another story!
> 
> I was hoping to get this out for Bell Let's Talk but I wasn't able to finish it in time but it's here now. 
> 
> This work is currently un beta'd and unedited so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> \- character suffers from depression  
> \- mentions of self-harm  
> \- suicide attempt  
> \- hiding mental illness from people
> 
>  
> 
> A lot of this is based of my own experiences so I'm hoping I've portrayed this well.

 

*

“Fucking hell, Mitchy, you’re a fucking riot,” Marty says to him in the locker room, tears streaming down his face as he struggles to control his laughter.

 

“Damn right,” Mitch replies, holding his hand up for a high five which Marty is more than happy to give him.

 

Marty’s laugh is deep, and hearty, the kind that only comes from the belly. And Mitch loves that he’s the only guy who can well and truly get Marty to laugh like that. It just might be Mitch’s favourite sound, after the sound of the Maple Leafs goal song, of course.

 

The team are sitting in the locker room, joking as they’re getting changed after a gruelling training session. They haven’t had the best games recently, and most of the boys had come off the rink in a sour mood which left Mitch to perform his usual task of cheering them up.

 

It’s something that Mitch prides himself on, his ability to have the room in stitches, and a job that Mitch takes very seriously.

 

 

*

 

_He’s fourteen and alone in the bathroom, naked in front of the mirror. Bruises litter his body, some from hockey, most from a few hours ago. It’s 3am in the morning, Mitch should be sleeping before the game tonight. Instead, he paces back and forth in his bedroom, fingers pulling as his hair, and tears threatening to fall from his eyes._

_He’s angry._

_So, so angry._

_A white hot anger sears in his stomach and burns throughout his body. He wants to scream, to yell, to throw a chair on the floor, anything. But his parents are sleeping in the bedroom across the hallway and Mitch doesn’t want to wake them up._

_So he does the next best thing. He takes the anger out on himself. Curls his fist up and punches himself repeatedly on his thigh, until the anger simmers down, and Mitch does too. Sinking to the floor and wishing for the anger to come back instead of the shame that settles deep in his bones. By the time the clock hits 5am, Mitch has dragged himself off the floor and underneath his covers._

_He doesn’t sleep._

*

Mitch is sitting in a booth with half the team, the rest of them out on the dancefloor celebrating their third consecutive win. He’s not sure how many shots he’s had, he lost count after five, but he doesn’t really care either. Marty and Kadri are arguing over something or other, Willie’s trying to pick up and Matts is nowhere to be found. He’s probably chatting some chick up on the dancefloor. Sometimes Mitch hates his fucking team, in as nice of a way possible. The alcohol numbs Mitch’s body and the sadness that usually lingers under Mitch’s skin disappears even if only for a short while.

 

Mitch loves these nights.

*

 

_He’s fifteen and holding the edge of a razorblade to his hip. Hands shaking, breath hitching, and his eyes crying. He sucks in a deep breath, and slices into his skin. Three times._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_It takes him an hour and a half to stop the bleeding. The bathroom is stained with blood soaked tissues, and band-aids; and he sits curled up in the corner. The sadness stays, and the guilt, and shame worsen._

_He doesn’t touch a razorblade again._

*

 

Mitch’s favourite colour is blue. Not light blue or dark blue or navy blue. Maple Leafs Blue. He loves the deep tone, and how it brings out his eyes. But Mitch mostly loves that it’s the colour of his Team, which means that blue reminds him of his hockey family, of the boys. And his family is what makes Mitch happy.

 

Not that he says that when Matts is chirping him for being a ‘bit’ of a fanboy when it comes to his Leafs. It doesn’t bother Mitch, because Auston’s voice is gently teasing him, and his eyes are lit up, friendly. And Mitch’s favourite colour makes Auston laugh, and Mitch loves when Auston laughs.

 

*

 

_He’s sixteen, and the text comes through on the bus ride back from the game. It’s a long one, which means his Dad’s got a lot more criticism than praise about his game that night._

 

_‘You’re skating is too slow, and what the fuck was that pass in the 3 rd period…’_

_And Mitch knows he wasn’t the best guy out there today, he fumbled a couple passes and yeah, his skating was a little on the slow side but he almost got a hatty._

_He sends his Dad a quick text back._

_‘I know Dad, I’ll be better next time.’_

_It’s all he can put back, knowing that if he even tries to argue his Dad will just point out more flaws. So Mitch pulls his hoodie up over his face and leans against the window, glad that its night time so that no one can see the tears that are starting to make their way down his face._

*

 

 

Mitch laughs a lot when he’s around his team. He’s always been like that, the guy who emulates positivity and laughs the loudest. He laughs, cuddles with them and makes it known to them that even when they’re in their lowest moments, he’ll always be the one to to crack a joke, or lend a shoulder to lean on.

 

When the team votes Mitch as the happiest, liveliest person on the team, Mitch knows he’s done his job.

 

*

 

_When Mitch is seventeen, he’s heading into the NHL entry draft. He runs himself ragged during games, skates harder and faster than he’s ever done before because he wants to, no, he needs to impress the scouts._

_Instead of focusing on his skating or puck control, the media decide to pull apart Mitch’s height._

_He’s too small._

_Too breakable._

_One hit and he’ll be down._

_The kid needs more meat on his bones._

_Looks like a skeleton, he’ll never make it out of minors._

_And on the night before the draft, Mitch finds himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror once more. Eyes red, cheeks tear-stained, and a dark, blue bruise forming on his thigh._

_It’s from the hit into the boards the other day, Mitch tells his Mom when she asks about it._

_*_

The thing is, Mitch is killing it in the NHL. He doesn’t know whether it’s the thrill of finally making it to the Big Leagues, or the motivation to not get sent back down to the OHL. Either way, he’s unstoppable on the ice, scoring goal after goal and assist after assist. But it’s not how great he’s doing on the ice that the media talk about, no, instead it’s the same old shit about his size, and how breakable he is.

 

“Ignore them Mitchy, you’re pretty much the reason we’re doing as well as we are,” Mo says to him after he catches Mitch reading through another article about his size, after practice.

 

“But what if they’re right?” The question comes out before Mitch can stop it, and Mo’s eyes soften.

 

“You’re small Mitchy, but you’re not breakable,” Mo says, sitting down and resting his arm on Mitch’s back, “I don’t want to catch you reading that shit again, okay?”

 

Mitch sighs and nods.

 

*

 

_He’s eighteen and the Toronto Maple Leafs have just called his name. Fourth overall to his hometown team. Mitch should be happy. He wants to be happy. Except, instead, he feels numb. Has to force the smile to come to his face as he shakes management hands, as he shoves the bright blue jersey over his head and takes photos._

_The thing is, Mitch thought that he’d be so much more excited for this, that he’d be unable to control the happiness. Except now he’s blinking back tears and forcing himself to stay awake during the celebration party. There’s an overwhelming sense of dread that settles in the pit of his stomach._

_It never leaves._

*

 

 

Sometimes Mitch hates the happy persona he’s created for himself. When the team loses spectacularly and they all turn to Mitch expectantly, hoping for him to ease their pain and turn their disappointment into laughs.

 

He just wishes they knew how exhausting it is for him.

 

*

 

_His Dad finds him in the bathroom one day, an empty bottle of painkillers next to a bottle of chocolate milk. He’s covered in milky vomit and sobbing against the toilet bowl._

_“I just wanted it to go away,” Mitch sobs against his Dad’s shirt._

_“Wanted what to go away?” His Dad asks, combing his fingers through Mitch’s hair._

_“The numbness.”_

_By the time the ambulance arrives, Mitch has thrown up all of the pills and used up all of his tears._

_He spends a week in hospital under suicide watch, and the doctor prescribes him medication that numbs him from the hollow sense of dread he’d had for years._

_*_

The antidepressants are hidden in a small pocket in Mitch’s suitcase. He never tells anyone about them, not even Babcock, which is why he forgets to refill the day before an 11-day away game.

He’s fine, he tells himself, it’s just 11 days.

 

Two days in and Mitch is absolutely not fine. The clock reads 8:46am and he really should be getting up for team breakfast. He doesn’t want to get scratched, doesn’t want the team to suffer for his tardiness. Except he’s so exhausted, and tired. And the blankets have cocooned themselves around his body, and Mitch can’t make himself move.

 

“Mitchy, c’mon, Babs is gonna tear is a new one if we’re not down there in five,” Zach shakes his shoulder and yells in Mitch’s ear.

 

Mitch just buries his head further under the covers and groans. He doesn’t even have the energy to form words or even open his eyes.

 

“Fuckin’ get up,” Zach sighs, pulling the blanket off him, “Are you sick or something?”

 

Mitch doesn’t reply, instead he curls in further on himself, he can’t find it within himself to even fight Zach for his blanket.

 

He hears Zach sigh behind him.

 

“Suit yourself then.”

 

His body feels heavy and numb, and guilt settles deep in his bones.

 

*

 

_“You need to tell management, Mitchell,” His Mom stares his down at the kitchen table._

_He’s finally made it through training camp and pre-season, finally made it onto the actual Leafs line up. He’s happy, ecstatic. It’s not every day you find out your lifelong dream is about to become a reality._

_Except, now that he’s made it, his parents are demanding that he tells the Leafs management about his depression. As if his size alone wasn’t enough for him to be sent back down to the minors, they want the people who control whether he stays or goes to know about his fucking mental issues._

_“I’m not telling them about it.” Mitch says to her, his eyes never leaving hers._

_She sighs._

_“Mitchy, you have to tell them, what’re you going to do, huh? Just not take your medication? You can’t hide it.”_

_“Well, you could always get the prescription, please Mom. I just- I can’t risk it,” He says to her, trying to not to tear up._

_“Baby,” She holds out her hand and grabs Mitch’s in it, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”_

_“I know Mom, but I need to stay in the NHL. I don’t think I can handle being sent down again.”_

_His Mom looks down, defeated._

_“We’ll figure something out then.”_

*

 

It turns out Zach is the best roommate ever when he tells Babcock that Mitch was ill, rather than Mitch didn’t want to get up. So now he’s been placed on IR for illness instead of being a healthy scratch.

 

They send a team doctor up to him who, in all his wisdom, diagnoses Mitch with fatigue instead of the depressive episode that Mitch is going through due to medication withdrawal. He prescribes some extra vitamins as if that’ll work.

 

*

 

_“Hey, Mitchy, stop hogging the fucking bathroom!” Zach’s voice is loud as he bangs on the bathroom door of their hotel room._

_Mitch doesn’t reply._

_He pacing backwards and forwards, trying desperately to silence his sobs, and to wipe the tears from his face. It doesn’t work._

_It’s his fault that they lost the game. Too many turnovers and failed shots at the net. He was awful and they’re definitely sending him down, no doubt about it._

_“Fucking hell, I’m going to Willy’s then.”_

_He brings his fist down on a purple bruise already forming from a particularly nasty check into the boards. Let’s the pain wash over him. It breaks his fears about being sent down, even if it’s only for just a second._

*

 

He’s up and ready for team breakfast the next day. On time, early, and before any of the other boys.

 

The thing is, Mitch is here with them physically but he’s stuck in his head. The guilt from missing the game pushing through his body, and the fatigue still there. By the time the team have made their way down, Mitch is thinking about anything that’ll take his mind away from the dark thoughts swirling through his head.

 

_Failure._

_Unreliable._

_Too small._

_A fucking joke._

 

The thoughts swirl viciously around his head continuously.

_Failure._

_Unreliable._

_Too small._

_A fucking joke._

And Mitch can’t fucking deal with this. He can feel his breath starting to hitch and the vision around his eyes begins to blur. He pushes his head into his hands, and pulls on his hair in an attempt to ground himself except the thoughts. Won’t. Fucking. Stop.

 

_Failure._

_Unreliable._

_Too small._

_A fucking joke._

_Failure._

_Unreliable._

_Too small._

_A fucking joke._

 

And then he’s surrounded by different teammates, some crouching down in front of him, and others stroking his hair, and is that Patty’s arms around him? He can’t tell. Mitch can feel the tears rolling down his face and tries to hold back the sobs that push at the back of throat unsuccessfully. His attempt only succeeding at making them come out louder and sounding like he’s choking.

 

“You’re okay Mitchy,” One of the guys says to him, Mo or someone.

 

And then he’s getting pulled to his feet, and taken out of the room.

 

 

*

 

He’s not sure whose hotel room they’ve taken him to but he’s with Patty, Babcock and Marty. They’ve sat him on the end of the bed and wrapped a blanket around him and shoved a cup of hot tea in his hands.

 

At least he’s not sobbing anymore.

 

Marty wraps his arms around him and Mitch feels himself leaning into Marty subconsciously while Patty’s hands stroke his knee. Babcock kneels down in front of him.

 

“Is there something you want to talk about Mitch?” Babcock asks, gently.

 

Mitch shakes his head. He can’t tell them. They’ll send him back down for sure.

 

“Hey, whatever it is we’re not gonna judge you for it,” Marty whispers in his ear and Patty nods.

 

“I can’t,” He says, shaking his head.

 

“Mitchy, you need to tell us so we can sort it out,” Babcock says.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Why not, Mitchy?”

 

He can feel a sob rise up in the back of his throat.

 

“Be-because you’ll send me back down,” Mitch chokes out, falling back into the sobs again.

 

He wipes furiously at his tears, and once again his breath begins to hitch, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

 

“Mitch, you’re playing so well. Whatever it is I promise you’re not going to be sent back down,” Babcock says, placing his hand on Mitch’s knee.

 

Mitch sighs, knowing that he can’t get out of this one.

 

“I forgot to refill my fucking anti-depressants,” He says, letting out a wet nervous laugh.

 

“Oh Mitchy,” Marty pulls him closer.

 

*

 

Mitch doesn’t get sent back down to OHL. Instead he gets his medication refilled and a lecture from Babcock about the importance of talking about these things.

 

“We can’t help you if we don’t know Mitchy,” He says to him.

 

The team know too. He tells them the day after he had his meltdown in the locker room after practice. Tells them about his suicide attempt and how sometimes he just feels numb, or just really, really fucking sad for no reason.

He doesn’t tell anyone about his affinity for punching bruises into himself after a particularly bad day, maybe he will one day but he’s not sure he’s ready for that conversation yet.

 

The team still look to him to lighten the locker room up after a bad game or a bad practice, still go to him when they need cheering up. Except now it feels like less of a chore because they can tell when he’s having a bad day, and instead they try their best to cheer him up.

 

This time, when the team votes his as the happiest, liveliest person on the team, it’s because he genuinely is, not because he’s putting up a front.

 

He still has his bad days, still has those days where he feels like nothing in the world will ever make him smile again and on those days, Marty pulls him close. Patty talks about his kids, Zach will rattle off book ideas and Auston will smile at him from across the room. Small gestures but things that make Mitch’s day that little bit easier.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading - constructive criticism is always welcome and greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Please, please, please, if you are suffering from depression or any other type of mental illness, talk to someone. Even if it's a close friend or family member or even someone online. You don't have to go through it alone, I've done it and it's so much easier to let someone know than to try and deal with it yourself. 
> 
> I've provided some websites and numbers below for anyone who needs to speak to someone or is going through something: 
> 
> Australia: 
> 
> Lifeline: 13 11 14  
> Kids helpline: 1800 55 1800
> 
> UK:  
> The Samaritans: 116 123  
> MindInfoLine: 0300 123 3393  
> Child Helpline: 080811 11
> 
> USA:  
> Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255  
> Boys Town Suicide and Crisis Line: 800-448-3000
> 
> Websites:  
> https://www.kooth.com/  
> http://www.youngminds.org.uk/  
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> http://www.crisischat.org/  
> https://www.beyondblue.org.au/  
> https://www.lifeline.org.au/


End file.
